Lamia | Page 7

well
That but a moment's thought is
passion's passing bell.
"Why do you sigh, fair creature?" whisper'd he:

"Why do you think?" return'd she tenderly:
"You have deserted me
- where am I now?
Not in your heart while care weighs on your brow:

No, no, you have dismiss'd me; and I go
From your breast
houseless: ay, it must be so."
He answer'd, bending to her open eyes,

Where he was mirror'd small in paradise,
My silver planet, both of
eve and morn!
Why will you plead yourself so sad forlorn,
While I
am striving how to fill my heart
With deeper crimson, and a double
smart?
How to entangle, trammel up and snare
Your soul in mine,
and labyrinth you there
Like the hid scent in an unbudded rose?
Ay,
a sweet kiss - you see your mighty woes.
My thoughts! shall I unveil
them? Listen then!
What mortal hath a prize, that other men
May be
confounded and abash'd withal,
But lets it sometimes pace abroad
majestical,
And triumph, as in thee I should rejoice
Amid the
hoarse alarm of Corinth's voice.
Let my foes choke, and my friends
shout afar,
While through the thronged streets your bridal car

Wheels round its dazzling spokes." The lady's cheek
Trembled; she
nothing said, but, pale and meek,
Arose and knelt before him, wept a
rain
Of sorrows at his words; at last with pain
Beseeching him, the
while his hand she wrung,
To change his purpose. He thereat was
stung,
Perverse, with stronger fancy to reclaim
Her wild and timid
nature to his aim:
Besides, for all his love, in self despite,
Against
his better self, he took delight
Luxurious in her sorrows, soft and new.

His passion, cruel grown, took on a hue
Fierce and sanguineous as
'twas possible
In one whose brow had no dark veins to swell.
Fine
was the mitigated fury, like
Apollo's presence when in act to strike

The serpent - Ha, the serpent! certes, she
Was none. She burnt, she
lov'd the tyranny,
And, all subdued, consented to the hour
When to
the bridal he should lead his paramour.
Whispering in midnight
silence, said the youth,
"Sure some sweet name thou hast, though, by
my truth,
I have not ask'd it, ever thinking thee
Not mortal, but of
heavenly progeny,
As still I do. Hast any mortal name,
Fit

appellation for this dazzling frame?
Or friends or kinsfolk on the
citied earth,
To share our marriage feast and nuptial mirth?"
"I have
no friends," said Lamia," no, not one;
My presence in wide Corinth
hardly known:
My parents' bones are in their dusty urns
Sepulchred,
where no kindled incense burns,
Seeing all their luckless race are
dead, save me,
And I neglect the holy rite for thee.
Even as you list
invite your many guests;
But if, as now it seems, your vision rests

With any pleasure on me, do not bid
Old Apollonius - from him keep
me hid."
Lycius, perplex'd at words so blind and blank,
Made close
inquiry; from whose touch she shrank,
Feigning a sleep; and he to the
dull shade
Of deep sleep in a moment was betray'd
It was the custom then to bring away
The bride from home at
blushing shut of day,
Veil'd, in a chariot, heralded along
By strewn
flowers, torches, and a marriage song,
With other pageants: but this
fair unknown
Had not a friend. So being left alone,
(Lycius was
gone to summon all his kin)
And knowing surely she could never win

His foolish heart from its mad pompousness,
She set herself,
high-thoughted, how to dress
The misery in fit magnificence.
She
did so, but 'tis doubtful how and whence
Came, and who were her
subtle servitors.
About the halls, and to and from the doors,
There
was a noise of wings, till in short space
The glowing banquet-room
shone with wide-arched grace.
A haunting music, sole perhaps and
lone
Supportress of the faery-roof, made moan
Throughout, as
fearful the whole charm might fade.
Fresh carved cedar, mimicking a
glade
Of palm and plantain, met from either side,
High in the midst,
in honour of the bride:
Two palms and then two plantains, and so on,


From either side their stems branch'd one to one
All down the
aisled place; and beneath all
There ran a stream of lamps straight on
from wall to wall.
So canopied, lay an untasted feast
Teeming with
odours. Lamia, regal drest,
Silently paced about, and as she went,
In
pale contented sort of discontent,
Mission'd her viewless servants to
enrich
The fretted splendour of each nook and niche.
Between the

tree-stems, marbled plain at first,
Came jasper pannels; then, anon,
there burst
Forth creeping imagery of slighter trees,
And with the
larger wove in small intricacies.
Approving all, she faded at self-will,

And shut the chamber up, close, hush'd and still,
Complete and
ready for the revels rude,
When dreadful guests would come to spoil
her solitude.
The day appear'd, and all the gossip rout.
O senseless Lycius!
Madman! wherefore flout
The silent-blessing fate, warm cloister'd
hours,
And show to common eyes these secret bowers?
The herd
approach'd; each guest, with busy brain,
Arriving at the portal, gaz'd
amain,
And enter'd marveling: for they knew the street,

Remember'd it from childhood all complete
Without a gap, yet ne'er
before had seen
That royal porch, that high-built fair demesne;
So
in they hurried all, maz'd, curious and keen:
Save one, who look'd
thereon with eye